


The Matchbox

by hinotorihime



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Gen, Latvia saves the day, sort of but not really Martyr!Toris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotorihime/pseuds/hinotorihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He bargained himself away, like the fool that he was. A fairy tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Matchbox

There was a woman who was midwife to a fairy, and this is not her story. This story begins where hers ends: when she stepped out of the hill when her work was complete, and felt a weight in the pocket of her apron, and knew she had been repaid handsomely for her aid—for fairies, as everyone knows, do nothing without a price. She went to her home, weeping in relief to find it still there, and her husband and son a mere three years older, and still waiting for her return. She put the fairy box in her wedding chest, and warned her family to never touch it, for they would never be desperate enough to use it.

Her son listened carefully to her story, and knew to obey her, for fairy gifts never come without a price. His name was Toris, and if he was somewhat plain-faced he was strong, and kind, and he loved like a tree, unyielding and forever.

This is his story.

* * *

When Toris was eighteen, a rider came bearing news of war in the east. Toris shuddered and crossed himself; his mother grew pale and silent. War meant death, it meant flame and destruction, it meant hunger, salted fields and no one to work them.

The messenger was unmoved. The message was clear. Short and simple and impossible to accidentally misunderstand.

That night, Toris stood before the hearth, quietly ladling soup into a bowl. His mother was twisting her apron in her hands. The bread lay uncut on the table.

"If your father were alive—" she began, and stopped.

"It would change nothing," Toris said. "A son, a husband. Which would you rather lose? This way... the choice is made for you, in a way. So perhaps this is better."

"I would still have one man at least, to comfort me in my loss," she snapped, and Toris, seeing that she was frightened and not angry, set the bowl before her and wrapped his arms around her for a moment. He said nothing; there was nothing to say.

Then he let go and began to slice the bread. His mother watched dully. The knife glinted red in the firelight.

"I will give you a parting gift," she said suddenly. Her steps were heavy as she made her way to her wedding chest and took out the fairy box, still shining and dustless after so many years.

"I have never had need of it," she told him. "But one day, you may be desperate enough to beg help from them."

"But it's yours, Mother," protested Toris, and she said simply:

"So are you."

Slowly, he took the box, and he wanted nothing more than to cling to his mother and weep like a child, to _be_ a child again, and for her to never, ever let him go. But there were tears shining in her eyes too. So he embraced her again, and stood like a tree while she cried. Strong. Immovable. And when she finally wearied of weeping, and slept, he slipped outside and opened the box, struck one of the matches it contained, and said firmly:

"I wish to make a bargain."

The moon was bright and gold; the tiny flame danced at the end of his fingertips. The shadows formed a figure, like a woman, or a man, or both, or neither; impossibly large yet at the same time infinitely small.

"For what would you bargain?" it hissed, in a voice like a hundred snakes.

Steadily, Toris said, "I want my mother safe. I want her to be protected once I can no longer protect her."

The figure flickered in the moonlight. "Nothing for yourself?" it questioned.

"Safety for my mother," Toris repeated. "What is the price for that?"

"Your hair is long and soft," said the figure. "For your mother's safety, I will accept that."

"Take it," said Toris, "and be welcome."

The next morning, the rider left their village. Toris went with him.

* * *

Strong Toris might be, but he was unsure whether the army was trying to train him or to kill him. Every night he staggered into his tent and passed out, often on top of his blankets. Then, before the sun was even peeking over the horizon, he would be woken by the sergeant's shouting and do it all over again.

"I'm going home," one of his tentmates said devoutly every day. To which Toris would merely snort in reply. Feliks was quite possibly the laziest person Toris had ever met, but he had a point. Home was the most beautiful, most unattainable idea in the world here, in the mud and the rain and the constant exhaustion. Toris wondered if his mother missed him as much as he missed her.

Their first battle passed in a blur of shouting and screaming and more mud, and Toris threw up afterward. He was covered in blood. Most of it wasn't his. Feliks was pale and shaking, Alfred was unusually quiet. Gilbert was somewhere on the field with a spear through his stomach, and they were barely able to spare a moment for mourning, for as soon as their wounds were bandaged they were on the march again.

The funny thing was, Toris wasn't even sure who had won.

They started to pass burnt-out fields and abandoned villages, and it didn't take a genius to decide that the monotony of marching was infinitely better than fighting. And then in their seventh or eighth or ninth battle (Toris had long since lost count), Feliks did something to his foot and Toris who had foolishly gone back to help him took an arrow to his shoulder, and, well, Feliks tried to look on the bright side and he was right that the Novgorod fed their prisoners just as well as their own infantry had and even if they were tied up at least they weren't _fighting_ anymore.

Toris wondered what they'd told his mother.

* * *

Most nights, Feliks would beg, plead, coax, or whine until Toris agreed to sing for him. They had so little else to do, after all, and Toris's voice was pleasant enough. He would lean his head back as he sang and watch the autumn rain as it sheeted down, gusts of wind catching the water and sending it spiraling sideways into a frigid grey sunset.

Feliks was a firebrand, he'd known that already, but the boredom of captivity was even worse than the boredom of the army and so when Toris wasn't singing, Feliks talked. After a few weeks Toris thought he probably knew Feliks better than even himself—about his family (four older siblings and a landowning father), about his pleasures (sewing and riding, a strange combination but it seemed to fit him), about his insecurities (his shyness and his shortness and his high, nasal voice); about his opinions on anything and everything under the sun (and the _cold wet_ snow, and the _gross_ dark rainclouds) but especially anything he could make fun of, could make Toris laugh over, and the way Feliks's heavy-lidded eyes sparkled with satisfaction and amusement when he made the perfect witty observation to send the other man into gales of poorly suppressed mirth.

The guards, on the other hand, despised his wisecracks, and sometimes they hit him. (They weren't supposed to, but who would know? Who would care?) Toris tried to sing more often, to make Feliks stay quiet. He liked Feliks a lot. Didn't want to see him get hurt.

One day, a man came who had a general's stars shining on his uniform, tall and broad with a serene smile and a long sabre in a scabbard flecked with brown stains. He stooped to look in Toris's face and said loudly:

"You look very smart! You will come with me, yes?"

"What of the other?" said the officer who had accompanied him in. The big man shrugged easily.

"Do what you wish. I do not want him."

Feliks's face went as grey as the clouded light outside.

The big man grabbed Toris's arm and dragged him to his feet, still smiling. Then Toris was pulled outside, and it seemed as if the sky was weeping as he was shoved onto a horse and swiftly led away.

The matchbox felt heavy in his pocket. No one had taken it away from him.

That night, in their inn room while Ivan the big man was sleeping, Toris drew a blanket over his head, took out a match and struck it. The shadow-figure formed more quickly this time, flickering and hissing as before.

"For what would you bargain?" it inquired, and Toris whispered:

"Is Feliks alive still?"

Wordlessly, the figure held out a cloudy hand. Toris raked his teeth across the back of his arm until it bled; smeared the droplets onto his fingers and held the blood out to the fairy. It nodded once, then said, "He is."

"I want him to escape," Toris said quickly. "Help him get back to his home."

"And what will you pay for that help?"

"My songs," Toris offered. "My singing voice—is that enough for Feliks's freedom?"

"It will do."

"Then take it," said Toris, "and be welcome."

He tried talking when the figure had faded away; his voice sounded softer, rougher, weaker, in his own ears. He did not dare attempt to sing with Ivan so close. Instead he curled up on the straw mattress, closed his eyes, and hoped not to dream.

* * *

And so Toris became a servant in the mansion of the Novgorod general. He never received word from Feliks or from his mother—it would have been useless anyway, he had never learned to read—but the fairies always keep their bargains, and that knowledge comforted him immensely.

Ivan himself varied between ignoring his servants completely and fawning over them relentlessly and he seemed to have a particular fascination with Toris. His elder sister Katya lived with him, a kind and cheerful woman who doted with maternal fussiness on everyone in the household.

There were several other servants; two of them were very young, and Toris quickly began to care for them fiercely. Eduard was tall and shy; Raivis was small and talkative; and the two were nearly inseparable.

Then there was Natalya.

She was Ivan's father's ward, he was told, and he could see for himself her pale, willowy beauty. She was stern and sharp of speech, but sometimes her dark eyes would soften a little, and a tiny smile would play across her lips, and then it seemed that the world was a little brighter for it.

(It was perhaps inevitable that Toris would fall in love.)

But among all of that Toris adjusted quickly, and there were times he even felt happy—joking with the boys, or watching Natalya out of the corner of an eye, or being mothered by Katya, or trying to dodge Ivan so he could actually get his work done. And at night he collapsed on the narrow bed he shared with Eduard and Raivis and slept instantly, with no time to think about all he had lost. The fairy box sat at the bottom of his clothes drawer. And so the year turned, and another, with no dreams and not much regret.

* * *

Raivis woke one morning complaining of a headache, his skin itching and flushed, feeling as if he was swallowing glass with every breath he took. Katya, the mistress of the household, went white and crossed herself when she came to look: the child's tongue was strawberry red, coated with something thick and white, and his breathing had become harsh and labored.

Toris was the only one who dared enter the sickroom to tend to the boy, as the fever raged and Raivis lay whimpering quietly in fitful sleep. Eduard, still young, caught the scarlatina himself soon enough, and they both grew worse and worse until Toris found himself scrabbling in his drawer, lighting the penultimate match with shaking hands and blurred vision.

"A bargain," he pleaded breathlessly, before the figure had even finished forming, "a bargain for my brothers' lives!"

The figure seemed unmoved by his desperation.

"And what will you pay?"

"The rest of my voice, take it, please—"

"It is not enough," said the fairy, voice cold and even, and Toris cried:

"Then _what do you want_?"

The ghostly hand lifted his chin, and the fairy said, "These clear eyes of yours, forest-green and bright with tears."

Toris turned back to look at Raivis. The boy's breath was shallow and uneven. Eduard's face beneath the rash was as pale as the candle by his bedside.

"Then take them," Toris whispered, throat tight. "T-take them and b-be welcome."

Agonizing pain, and darkness descended like a veil over his face.

* * *

Of course he was blind, the other servants said; he was a fool for tempting fate, for willingly exposing himself to the disease that was what must have robbed him of his sight. Raivis and Eduard said nothing, only gripped his hands tightly on either side and guided him through the mansion and helped him with the work he could no longer properly do. They were alive, and Toris told himself it was worth it, but the last match was hidden all the same. He would not—could not—make any more bargains.

Ivan called him in one day, and he stood immobile while huge, cold hands ran over his face. "Natalya tells me you are useless now. Katya thinks I should keep you on out of pity." He gave a short, barking laugh. "And I... I think you are still my lovely Toryushka, even with your pretty eyes clouded over."

It was no wonder, Toris thought, that Natalya hated him, as Ivan pressed a long kiss to his temple and ran gentle fingers through the short hair that could never grow now beyond his chin. Beautiful, cold Natalya, whom Toris loved and who was in love with Ivan, whom he knew was consumed with jealousy every time Ivan's touch on his arm or his cheek lingered a little too long to be an accident. There was a twinge in his chest every time it happened.

He didn't _want_ her to be unhappy.

"I wonder if Ivan is ever going to marry," said Eduard in a low voice one day, as he worked on papers and Raivis and Toris cleaned.

"Nah," Raivis said promptly. "He's a big shy baby with a big gay crush and—"

" _Raivis!_ "

"Oh, shut up, Toris. You of _all people_ should know it's true."

"Regardless of truth," said Eduard primly, "That is hardly something to discuss openly."

"You started it. Toris, you missed a spot. To the left a little—now up—right there."

Toris imagined blue eyes wide and innocent and couldn't bring himself to be angry. "I never asked him to—well. You know."

"We know." Raivis's voice was sympathetic. "Really, it's kind of sad. And there's Miss Natalya, ready to throw herself off a cliff if he asks her to, and he barely notices she exists. I feel bad for her."

Toris turned his face away and said nothing.

"Toris?"

"I am a liar," he said quietly. "And a fool. But... she cries, you know, when she thinks no one can hear." He sighed heavily and stood.

"Huh? Toris, where are you going?"

"I have an errand to do."

He made his way to his bedroom, running his fingers lightly across the wall to guide himself, and took the final match from its hiding place. He could not see the flaring light, or the swiftly forming figure, but he felt a chill run through his body and said dully:

"I wish to make another bargain."

"Perhaps you will ask _something_ for yourself this time?" The fairy seemed to be laughing. Toris gripped the match.

"I want Natalya to be happy."

The fairy was silent for a very long time. Then, plaintively, it remarked:

"I still do not understand humans. Very well. What will you pay?"

"I don't know," Toris whispered. "I thought I had nothing left to give. Name your price, and I will pay it if I can."

The fairy's hands were gentle on his shoulders. "First tell me why you would give her up. Tell me why you have bargained yourself away for others and taken no thought for your own happiness."

"Because I love them," Toris said simply. "That is what love is."

"You are a fool," said the fairy.

"Yes."

A contemplative silence.

"The price is your youth. I will take your strong young body in exchange for your beloved's happiness."

"Take it then," said Toris quietly. "Be welcome."

The fairy bent and kissed his mouth. He felt his limbs grow weak, felt his heart begin to falter; he ran a hand across his face and felt papery, wrinkling skin.

"Perhaps those you love so much will show you such loyalty in return!"

The presence faded.

Toris curled up on the bed and lay still, with his useless eyes closed and leaking tears. Hours passed, until he heard pounding footsteps on the stairs, and the door slamming open.

"Toris! Toris, Toris— what the—?!"

"I'm alright, Raivis," he responded heavily. "What happened?"

"I— Toris, you look so _old_."

"I know." His voice was a little sharper than he meant it; it sounded raspy and tremulous, and he couldn't seem to get enough air. "Is it Natalya?"

"Y-yes," the boy said apologetically. "Ivan just proposed to her. It took everyone by surprise."

"Does he seem happy?"

"Yeah. It was like he suddenly realized that she loved him and he should do something about it. Maybe that's what happened, actually..."

"And she?"

"Radiant," Raivis breathed. "She's _laughing_."

"Alright then." Toris gripped the covers tightly.

"Alright then— what _happened_ to you?"

"I made a bargain."

Raivis paused to work this out. Then he said reproachfully, "Oh, _Toris._ "

"Don't you have chores to do?" he asked tiredly.

"We've all got the rest of the day off. Toris, you've been fooling around with magic, haven't you? Were you the one who made Ivan propose?"

His silence was answer enough.

" _Why_?"

"What's done is done, Raivis! Leave me be!"

There was a long, long silence. Toris heard a creak, then an irritated huff, and then Raivis must have flounced over to the bed and flopped onto it because the mattress suddenly sank and a small, warm body was pressed against his back.

"I said to leave!" Toris cried.

"No."

Raivis wrapped his arms carefully around Toris's thin chest and snuggled up against his shoulder blades.

"We're almost brothers now, remember? You'll be sad if I leave you up here alone. You wouldn't say it, but you'd be really sad and lonely."

Toris sighed slowly, rolled over, and rested his chin on Raivis's curly head.

"I just want her to be happy," he murmured. "That's all. I want the people I love to be happy—and I was able to _do_ that, and that made _me_ happy."

"You're stupid, Toris," said Raivis. "You're too nice. Always always, if I didn't know better I'd think you _liked_ loving and giving and never getting anything back. At least love someone who returns it!"

"I can't choose who I love, Rai."

"Then ask for everything back."

Toris blew out a breath. "That's not how bargains work, Raivis. If I asked for my youth back, or my sight, it would undo the things I gave them up for. Ivan would leave Natalya. _You_ would die, and Eduard too."

" _You bargained for us?"_

"And I don't regret it." A gentle kiss to Raivis's forehead. "Now, shall we sleep? My bones feel old and tired now, and you are young and need your rest."

Raivis fumbled around for the covers, to draw them up over them both. He paused, struck by a sudden thought:

"Why don't you just ask someone else to bargain for your youth back?"

"And who on earth would be as foolish as I am, to give themselves away for the sake of someone else?" He pulled the boy back down. "It's _alright_ , Raivis. I knew what I was doing."

"I don't think you did," Raivis muttered, but he settled down obediently, and fell asleep soon enough. Toris lay awake for a while, listening to the child's even breaths. He could feel a cough rising in his own chest, but he pushed it down, so as not to wake his friend.

* * *

"Toris?"

There was a slight movement from the bed.

"Raivis? What are you doing here?"

"Visiting you. Obviously."

"…You're supposed to be at the wedding."

"And leave you here all by yourself?"

"You're not supposed to… to worry about me," said Toris a little testily, his breath catching oddly in a half-cough. "You're young. Go have fun."

"Toris, I swear I'm not missing anything. Ed got himself roped into organizing basically everything so I'd be by myself anyway." Raivis frowned a little as he watched Toris sink back into the pillow and pick idly at the blankets. "And you need company a lot more than I need to watch Miss Natalya making sappy faces at Ivan." He sat beside the bed. "You look like death, Toris."

"Yes, well."

A horrible suspicion crept up on Raivis, and he blurted, "Toris, are you dying?"

A short silence. A long sigh.

"It's my heart, I think. It's not… not strong enough now."

Raivis put a hand on Toris's chest. The heartbeat was slow and uneven.

"Don't worry," Toris said. "It's not painful. I just feel... tired."

"It's not fair!" Raivis burst out.

"It's perfectly fair."

"Then it's not _right_ ," sobbed Raivis.

"Hush. Hush, sweetheart, it'll be alright." He pulled himself a little upright and fumbled to find Raivis's cheek and stroke it.

"How can you say that? After everything— no one even asked where you were! No one noticed you were gone!"

"You noticed... didn't you..." Toris's rough breathing hurt just to _listen_ to. "Anyway... they're happy, so..."

"I don't believe you," whispered Raivis. "I don't believe you're okay with this."

"What else... was I sup...posed... to do?"

Tears blurred Raivis's vision. He closed his eyes and let himself cry, and Toris dropped his hand exhaustedly and instead laced their fingers together on top of the bedspread. It felt so _wrong_ for Toris to be the one comforting him.

But then, Toris had always been the strong one, the kind one, the comforting one. _He loved like a tree, unyielding and forever._

"Not fair," he said again, "not right. Toris, please— what do I do? There's got to be something—!"

"Don't..." But Toris's voice was barely a whisper. His eyes slid closed.

"NO! _TORIS, NO!"_

Raivis buried his hands in his curly hair.

"Something, anything! I'll give anything! _Please_! Not like this, not after everything! What, so caring about people gets punished now? _You can't do this!_ "

He threw himself across Toris's still body and wept. It felt like hours, until his throat was raw and his ribs hurt.

_Anything?_

_He did it for me. And I love him... I didn't know I loved him this much. But we're—we're like brothers, right?_

Slowly, he sat up, and turned to draw the curtains open; the sky was the pearly grey of early morning. So it _had_ been hours. He would have to get water or something, take care of the body, he didn't know what you were supposed to do exactly but he knew you did something and apparently it would have to be him because everyone else was still gone and _—_

 _Anything?_ came that nagging voice in his head again, and Raivis, leaning his head against the cold glass, glanced back at the bed, rubbing his swollen eyes. Then he rubbed them again.

Did Toris's skin look smoother? There was brown at the roots of his hair, where Raivis could have sworn it was all white.

"Toris?" he whispered.

It seemed almost like his shoulders were _moving_ again.

Tentatively, he placed a small hand on Toris's chest, and felt a strong, steady heartbeat under his fingers.

"You owe me," came a hissing voice from the other side of the bed, and Raivis looked up to see a tall, dark figure, like a man or a woman or both or neither, or perhaps like a child. It hovered in the air, the edges of its form writhing.

"You— you brought him back?"

"Not without a price, boy. You said _anything_ ," said the figure.

"I know." There was a lump in Raivis's throat _—_ partly terror, but so much of it was joy. "He's given so much, he deserves for someone to be stupid for him too _—"_

"You _do_ mean it," the fairy interrupted. It seemed rather thoughtful. "How interesting."

Raivis took a deep breath.

"What do I owe you?" he said confidently, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

The fairy studied him.

"For something like this? More than you can pay right now, human child."

Raivis swallowed.

"But I suppose," added the fairy, "that _right now_ is not a strict requirement. You must pay eventually, of course. I will return later and we will negotiate."

"Thank you," Raivis said quietly.

The fairy huffed loudly.

" _Humans_ ," it said, and vanished.

Outside the window, the sun was rising.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> You guys are lucky. For most of this story's original conception, Toris was going to die in an extremely outrage-inducing manner and you would have killed first Natalya and then me. Fortunately Toris managed to talk me into a happy(ish) ending. I am too cruel to that boy…


End file.
